A New Era
by Athena Alexandria
Summary: "All either of them had ever wanted was to protect the people they cared about; maybe together, they could make that happen." Post Prey. After killing the Governor, Rick and Andrea take over as joint leaders of Woodbury. Alternate ending to season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Words cannot describe how heartsick I feel after that steaming pile of horse manure Glen Mazzara served up as a finale, so this is my attempt to pretend that it never happened. I apologise if this posts with weird spacing but there's something going on with the Document Manager. If anyone knows anything about this or how to fix it, please feel free to PM me. ;)_

* * *

_Prologue_

_Andrea was sure that he had come this way. "Rick?" she called, cracking open the door to the warden's office._

_After hearing her announcement that the 'exchange' the Governor had set up for Michonne was nothing more than an ambush to pick off the group's strongest fighters, and that he was going to attack the prison either way, he had stormed off towards the administration block with a haunted look, disappearing inside in spite of her protests._

_She went to visit the others in the cellblock to allow him time to cool off before tracking him to this room, where she could just make out his silhouette, slumped in the antique wingback chair behind the heavy oak desk, the curtains drawn against the early morning sunlight. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?"_

_She groped instinctively for the light switch, her finger freezing on the button when she heard him cock his pistol in response._

_"Leave it," he growled, his voice low and threatening._

_She withdrew her hand slowly. "What are you doing, Rick? What's going on?" If anything, he seemed even more volatile than the last time she saw him._

_"Is there something you need, Andrea?" he asked impatiently, brushing aside her concern._

_As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she noticed the half-drained whiskey bottle in his hand. A second, empty one littered the carpet at his feet. "Are you drunk?"_

_He raised it to his lips and took a defiant swig. "So what if I am?"_

_It was all so familiar – the alcohol, the self pity, her own sense of horror laced with frustration – that for just a moment, she was struck with an overpowering sense of déjà vu. "Those people out there are counting on you," she reminded him. "Carl, and Judith—"_

_"Well maybe they shouldn't," he interrupted her, stunning her into silence._

_She was sure that she must have misheard him. The Rick Grimes she knew wouldn't give up on his family so easily. "Excuse me?"_

_"Let's take a look at my track record, shall we?" he continued. "Since they decided to put me in charge, Jim died, Jacqui died, Sophia died, Dale died, Shane died, T-Dog died, Lori died, your sister died… Hell, maybe you died too and this whole conversation is happening inside my fucked up head."_

_The old Andrea, still buried somewhere inside, wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but she was done shelling out sympathy, had used it all up trying to talk the Governor down from whatever insanity had taken over him in the wake of Penny's 'death'. _

_"I can assure you, Rick, that I'm very much alive," she retorted, levelling him with a cool stare. "You want me to prove it to you?" _

_She charged over to where he was sitting and punched him hard in the bicep._

_He recoiled in shock, curling in on himself, his arms raised in a defensive posture to ward off further blows. "What was that for?"_

_"Someone has to knock some sense into you," she told him angrily. "Look, I get that you're grieving, but that doesn't give you an excuse to act like a jackass – especially to the people who are trying to help you."_

_"Says the woman who shoved a gun in my face," he reminded her, his voice devoid of any trace of humour._

_She felt the corners of her lips quirk into a smile. "Touché. Well I guess that makes us even then."_

_Her response seemed to surprise him, causing him to let out a weak chuckle. "You are something else, you know that?"_

_She couldn't tell if he meant it as a compliment or an insult or a little of both, so she didn't say anything, just waited for him to speak again._

_ "Why did you come back here, Andrea?" he asked after a long moment. "You should've stayed in Woodbury where you'd be safe. I can't protect you now. I can't protect any of you."_

_"Safe?" she snapped derisively, folding her arms. "From what? The man who tried to kill me?" There was no safe anymore. Not while the Governor lived. "I made a choice, Rick. I chose this group. Maybe it's time you did the same."_

_"You think I don't want to?" he argued. "That I haven't tried? Every time I make a decision we lose someone else. I can't be the one making those calls anymore. I won't."_

_"So that's it?" You're abdicating? her mind echoed. "Instead of rallying the troops you're just going to sit here on your ass feeling sorry for yourself?" She shook her head in disgust. "You know, I really thought you were better than that."_

_"Sorry to disappoint." He raised the bottle to his lips and took another deep pull, closing his eyes in satisfaction as he slipped further into oblivion._

_She was losing him. She could feel him shutting down. She decided to try a different tactic. "It wasn't your fault, you know. What happened to Lori." She knew she had his attention when his eyes snapped open again, regarding her with a glazed look. "It wasn't your fault."_

_"How can you say that? You weren't there."_

_She wasn't, but she was there they night they lost Amy, so she understood the crushing guilt he must feel. It had taken her a long time to recognise her sister's death for what it was: a tragic accident and not proof of her own failure as a protector. _

_"People die, Rick. That's just the world we live in. That much at least hasn't changed. But people live too, and that… That is because of you. You've kept this group together – kept them alive – for longer than any of ever thought was possible. Can you honestly tell me that they would have made it this far without you?" The corners of her lips twisted into a wry grin as she added, "Well, maybe Daryl."_

_"And you," he told her seriously, something akin to admiration in his voice._

_"You're right – I'm probably a bad example," she agreed. "But I had help from Michonne."_

_No thanks to you._

_The words hung between them, unspoken._

_"I'm sorry about what happened at the farm, Andrea," he said quietly. "You have to know that it was never my intention to leave you behind."_

_There was a time when she might have carried a grudge, but that was past. Too much had happened to her since then. "I'm not," she admitted. What was done was done, but maybe some good could still come from her ordeal. "I can help you, Rick. I know Philip…"_

_That's not who he is anymore, she reminded herself. The man she thought she knew – the man she could have loved – was dead, replaced by a violent, sociopathic monster. He had proved that when he spent a whole day and night hunting her down like some kind of animal, snuffing out any belief she still had that any part of him could be saved._

_"…The Governor," she amended, even though this felt wrong too. He didn't deserve the respect a title like that commanded. What he deserved was a bullet, and she was determined to be the one to give it to him. "I know his weaknesses, how he thinks. Together, we have a shot at winning this. But you need to get your shit together and you need to do it now. No more of this—" She waved her hand vaguely in Rick's direction, the gesture encompassing everything from his unshaven jaw, to his rumpled clothes, to the bottle in his hand. "If you can't do that for yourself, then do it for Carl and Judith. They already lost their mother – don't let them lose you too."_

_He dropped his gaze from her to the carpet at his feet, shame etched across his features._

_ "You don't have to say anything, just think about it, okay?" she finished. "And please, just make the right choice. Don't let the darkness swallow you. Don't become like him."_

_She turned on her heel to leave but he called her back._

_"Andrea?"_

_She hesitated when she reached the door. "Yeah?" she replied tentatively, unsure of what he might ask._

_Instead, all he said was, "Thanks. For not tiptoeing around me like the others. They don't say it, but I can see it in their eyes, that they're afraid of me. They think I'm losing my mind. I think I'm losing my mind."_

_She couldn't help but smile sadly at his admission. She still remembered what that felt like: the voices that fell silent whenever you approached, the pitying looks, the endless sympathy when deep down you knew that everyone was secretly glad that it was you and not them. _

_ "You're not crazy, Rick. You're human, just like the rest of us. But that doesn't mean we let ourselves sink into the shit heap with men like him. If Dale taught us anything, it's that this world is what we make it."_

_She decided to share the plan that she had been piecing together ever since Milton showed her what the Governor had been doing behind closed doors while he pretended to be hammering out a deal. If nothing else, it might give Rick a tangible goal to work towards, beyond all the fighting and killing._

_"We keep telling ourselves that nothing will ever be how it was, but what if we're wrong? What if there was a way for us to get our old lives back?"_

_"I'm not sure I follow you," he admitted._

_"I'm talking about Woodbury," she explained. "I've given it a lot of thought, and with the Governor out of the way, there's nothing to stop us from forming an alliance with them."_

_She could see that he wasn't convinced. "Think about it, Rick – we could be part of a community again. Carl could go back to school, Judith could have playdates with other children… We could have homes and jobs and medical care, and a nursery where we could grow our own food, so we wouldn't always have to worry about where our next meal was coming from."_

_"You really think they'll want us there after we killed a bunch of their people, including their leader?" he asked dubiously._

_"Maybe, maybe not," she agreed. "But without the Governor and his militia those people are defenceless – you must have seen that. They're where we were a year ago. They may not like it at first, but I believe that they're smart enough to realise that they could benefit from having people like us around. Don't you think it's at least worth a shot?"_

_She could practically see the wheels turning inside his head as he considered the merits of this idea. "Their defences are a little weak," he allowed. "I bet if we had to, we could take the town by force."_

_"Let's just try it my way first, okay?" she insisted. "Then if diplomacy fails, we can consider taking a less democratic approach."_

_His shook his head, his expression somewhere between astonishment and disbelief._

_"What?" she asked, frowning at him._

_"I was just thinking about the woman who pulled a gun on me without knowing how the safety worked. And now here you are talking about assassination and going to war."_

_"I'm not the same person I was a year ago," she reminded him. A year ago she had naively believed that walkers were the biggest threat to their safety. She doubted Dale foresaw a situation like this when he tried to convince them all that cold-blooded murder could never justified._

_"None of us are," he agreed. "I've gotta say, I'm impressed, Andrea. How'd you get so good at thinking like a soldier? The Governor teach you that?"_

_The contempt in his tone as he uttered the title wasn't lost on her. She rolled her dramatically eyes. "Please, Rick. I'm a lawyer – was a lawyer," she corrected herself, although in the back of her mind she couldn't help thinking that if her plan worked, maybe she could be again. They could all be what they were, or better yet, what they wanted to be._

_He broke into a grin. "And damn good one, I'll bet if that argumentative streak of yours is anything to go by."_

_She tried to look modest. "My firm did have a ninety-nine per cent success rate."_

_"Is that right? Well, then, let's hope this isn't in that other one per cent."_

_"No pressure," she said with a pained grimace._

_"No pressure," he echoed, his own expression grave, and she realised that he understood better than anyone the strain she had been under since she learning of the Governor's deceit._

_All either of them had ever wanted was to protect the people they care about, and maybe together, they could make that happen._

_There would be plenty of time to commiserate over the burden of leadership later, when the Governor was just a footnote in the history books she promised his people they would live to write one day._

_Drawing on the same reservoir of strength she had discovered when she made that speech, she forced herself to look calm, self-assured, ironing the waver out of her voice as she said, "You can bet when he gets back to Woodbury, he's not going to rest on his laurels, which means we can't either. So why don't you go sober up and get some rest? Then when you're feeling like yourself again, we can talk about our next move. The next time we meet, I want to be ready."_

* * *

_For those of you who are waiting, I will update Shelter when I feel less angsty about what happened._


	2. Chapter 2

_Basically, this is my dream version of season 4. Since we're not going to see it on the show, I decided to write it myself._

* * *

Chapter 1.

The sun was rising on another day in Woodbury.

Walking down the main street, where people were just beginning to emerge from their houses, Rick felt as though he had been transported back a year, to a time when a walker was an ambulation device for babies and elderly people and not a moving corpse. Only the presence of his newborn daughter served as reminder that the world he had lived in as recently as twelve months ago was gone.

How strange it felt to be pushing a pram again after all this time, he thought.

A lot of things about life in Woodbury were strange. Since he woke from his coma and discovered the ruin his home town had become, he had never expected to do anything as quaintly domestic as go to the store for a bottle of milk, or mow his lawn, or take the trash out ever again, and yet here he was living the so-called American Dream – albeit behind a ten foot wall.

He was still musing on the absurdity of the situation he currently found himself in when he heard a voice call, "Morning, Rick."

He looked up to see Andrea striding towards them from the direction of the gates.

"Morning," he greeted her.

She stopped when she reached them. "Hi, Judith," she cooed, peeking into the pram. The baby gurgled and wrapped her tiny fist around her thumb and Andrea smiled.

"Out late or up early?" Rick asked her.

"Out late. I just got off watch duty. What about you?"

"Up early. I was just taking Judith to Carol's and then I was going to head out to the north wall to see how the construction crew is getting on."

"Mind if I tag along?" she asked, straightening.

"Shouldn't you be hitting the hay?"

She looked like she was ready to drop. There were dark circles forming under her eyes that seemed to get darker by the day. From what he'd heard, she'd been up on the wall almost every night this week, and yet the next morning Rick would see her out on the street doing what she could to keep things running smoothly. That didn't leave her much time for sleeping, if she was even sleeping at all.

Andrea shrugged. "I'm still pretty wired."

Rick sensed that there was more to it than that – while he wasn't a psychologist, he was reasonably certain from his police training that she was exhibiting all the signs of PTSD – but he knew better than to pry into her business. If she wanted to talk about it, she would.

"Then by all means," he said, motioning for her to come along, and she fell into step gratefully beside him.

On the way, they passed the gardens, where Hershel sat on his lawn chair in the shade cast by greenhouse, crutches by his side, supervising a small team of gardeners. He waved to them and they waved back.

"I have to admit, I was sceptical at first, but everyone seems to be fitting in well," Rick said as they rounded the corner into Carol's street.

They each had a role to play in the rebuilding of civilisation, with the exception of Carl and Beth, who were back in school for the first time in more than a year, although Beth had already nominated to work in the day care centre with Carol when she graduated in the fall.

"Does this mean I get to say 'I told you so'?" Andrea teased him.

He laughed good-naturedly. "I think you just did."

"We did a good thing, Rick," she assured him seriously. "These people deserved better than to live in fear of a man like the Governor. Look at this place." She gestured around them, at all the men, women and children going about their days, seemingly without a care in the world. "It's thriving again and it's all because of us."

_One month earlier…_

"_Are you sure you wanna do this?" Rick asked Andrea, grabbing her arm to stop her just as she was about the climb into the backseat. "It's not too late for you to change your mind."_

_Today was the last day of the treaty, the day they were due to hand over Michonne… or go to war._

"_I appreciate the concern, Rick, but I'm coming," she insisted, fixing him with a stubborn glare. "This is my fight just as much as it is yours."_

_Rick had learned through experience that once Andrea got it into her head to do something, there was no arguing with her. He sighed, releasing his grip on her. "Okay, but you stay out of sight," he warned her. He couldn't risk someone seeing her and realising that they were planning an ambush of their own. "Let the Governor think you got eaten by walkers on the way here." The only reason he'd agreed to let her come along was to act as back up in case things got out of hand and they needed an extra gun._

_They spent the drive going over the plan so that everyone knew their part. As they neared their destination, Andrea hopped out, a rifle over one shoulder, her handgun at the ready. Merle followed suit and the two of them disappeared around the side of a building await the signal. _

"_You ready?" Rick asked Michonne once they were in place._

"_As I'll ever be," she agreed, sticking her arms out dutifully in front of her._

_He took out a piece of rope and bound her wrists together, pulling a bag over her head for good measure, and the three of them continued on in silence._

_The Governor was already at the meeting place, flanked by two henchmen – the black guy and the Latino –, although given what Andrea had told him, Rick guessed that there were at least a half dozen more of his flunkies hiding nearby, ready to attack them at the slightest provocation. _

_Chances were that even if they had brought Glenn and Maggie along, instead of leaving them to defend the prison, they would still be grossly outnumbered. But the Governor didn't know, or couldn't be certain, that they had Andrea, and that gave them back the advantage._

_Steeling himself for the confrontation, Rick threw the scabbard containing Michonne's sword over his back and helped her out of the car. Daryl took her other arm, and together they marched her into the designated space between their car and the Governor's truck._

"_I'm proud of you, Rick. You're a lot smarter than I gave you credit for," the Governor gloated, his eyes never leaving Michonne._

_She made a show of struggling, striking Rick painfully in the ribs with her elbow, but Rick knew it was just that. He had no real intention of handing her over – at least not without a fight._

_Which, fortunately, was exactly what they came for._

_The Governor's men kept their guns trained on them as they approached._

"_I held up my end of the bargain," Rick said, ignoring them, his attention focused on the Governor. "Now how about you hold up yours? Tell your goons to drop their weapons."_

"_I'm afraid that wasn't part of the deal," the Governor told him, whipping out his own gun._

_Before Rick could respond in kind, a shot rang out, and for one heart-stopping moment, he was afraid that he'd been hit, but then the Governor fell down dead, a bullet hole piercing his one good eye._

_Chaos erupted as everyone dove for cover, glancing around wildly for the shooter. As Rick drew his pistol, he caught sight of a lone figure standing on the roof of a neighbouring building._

_It was Andrea, lowering her smoking rifle, her expression so cold and blank that it sent a shiver down his spine…_

Back in the present, she was still talking, patting them on the back for a job well done, but Rick couldn't help worrying about her state of mind beneath her cheerful exterior. He still remembered what it took from him to do what he did to Shane. He couldn't imagine that it was much easier for her to kill the man whose bed she once shared, even if he was unrecognisable by the end.

There was no sense dwelling on any of that, he told himself as they climbed the steps to Carol's apartment, Andrea cradling Judith while he carried the pram, and knocked on the door.

"What are you two doing out so early?" Carol asked them when she appeared to let them in, still dressed in her fluffy yellow bathrobe.

They followed her through the kitchen, relaying their plans for the day.

"Since you're going out there anyway, would you mind taking this to Daryl?" she asked them, picking a brown paper bag up off the counter. "It'll save me a trip."

"Sure," Andrea agreed, swapping Judith for what Rick assumed must be Daryl's lunch.

"You can pick her up at the day care centre this afternoon," Carol told Rick, making faces at the baby as she bounced her lightly in her arms.

"Carol and Daryl?" Rick asked Andrea incredulously once they were back out in the hall. "How long has that been going on?"

Andrea looked surprised, although apparently not for the same reason as he was. "You didn't know?"

"I didn't know," he agreed sheepishly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And I thought I was out of touch," she teased him, following him back down the stairwell. "I get that you've been busy trying to keep everyone safe, Rick, but you really need to spend more time talking to people."

She fell silent as they crossed the landing, as though unsure how he would respond to what she was about to say, before deciding to press ahead. "I've actually been thinking – we should hold some kind of meet and greet. You could shake some hands, say a few words, let the good citizens of Woodbury see what a nice guy Rick Grimes is. I bet it would make them more comfortable about the change in leadership."

"Is that how the Governor did things?" Rick asked her, unable to hide the contempt for the man. Death hadn't softened his feelings towards him in the slightest: in fact, he only wished that he'd been the one to kill him himself.

"In the beginning," she agreed. "He had the right idea when he founded this place – it was his execution that left a lot to be desired."

That was definitely the understatement of the year, Rick thought wryly.

"I'm a cop, not a politician," he protested, dismayed at the idea of being trotted out in front of all those people and forced to make a speech. That just wasn't him: he was a man of action, more comfortable tending to the groups' physical rather than emotional needs.

"What if I made all the arrangements?" Andrea insisted as they stepped back out onto the street. "Then all you would have to do is show up."

Rick sighed. "I don't know…"

"_Panem et circenses_."

He glanced over at her in confusion. "Was that even English?"

"Latin," she explained. "It means 'bread and circuses'. These people aren't like us. They haven't seen the things we've seen. If you want them to follow you, you have to give them more than just big walls. That's what the Governor did best."

"I thought you were a lawyer, not a campaign manager," Rick said, only half joking.

"Winning a case is a lot like running a campaign – it's all about appearances," she told him. "And I'm sorry to say, you give off the appearance of being a reclusive loner, which isn't exactly the kind of behaviour that sways juries. I know you're used to doing things a certain way, and I respect that, but that approach isn't going to fly here. These people need assurances if you expect them to trust you."

He regarded her with a sidelong glance. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she agreed stiffly.

"Why didn't you just take over Woodbury yourself?" It was the question that had been on his mind ever since she brought them there. "The people here really like you. Seems to me you would have been a shoo in for the new Governor – or Govern_ess_."

She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. "What this place needs is someone who can make tough decisions, and in case you haven't noticed, that isn't me."

"You killed the Governor," he reminded her gently. If nothing else, she deserved credit for that.

"After I chickened out the first time," she insisted, her expression darkening with anger, though whether this was at the Governor or herself or both Rick couldn't tell.

"You needed to try everything else first." He wished he knew how to convince her that she was braver than she realised. She never gave up, never backed down from her convictions, no matter the cost. Those were the kinds of qualities that made her the natural candidate.

"Still… I feel safer knowing I have you in my corner if it ever comes to that again," she told him. "Face it, Rick – we balance each other out. I'm better at dealing with people than you are, but you've always been the one with the vision. I mean, whose idea was it to build these extensions?"

"Speaking of extensions…"

They had reached the northern boundary, where the construction crew was hard at work erecting sheets of galvanised iron, building a new wall behind the old one to encompass more of the town that formed the basis of theirs.

"They're making great time," Andrea remarked. At the rate they were going, it wouldn't be long before their little enclave became a thriving metropolis.

Rick turned to her with a grin. "I told Glenn and Maggie that as soon as they're done, they can finally have their own house. I think they're tired of living with Hershel."

"Kind of like an early wedding present."

"Sure beats the hell out a toaster."

"Hey, are you two just gonna stand there, or are you gonna pick up a hammer and help?" Daryl called down to them good-naturedly from on top of the wall.

"Carol says 'hi'," Andrea teased him back, brandishing the bag containing his lunch.

He scowled, flushing a deep shade of crimson, and she and Rick both laughed.

All of a sudden, Rick realised what it was that made this place so strange: for the first time since his wife died, he actually felt something akin to peace. It wasn't hard to see why Andrea believed that Woodbury was worth preserving.

"It's like a dream come true, isn't it?" he heard her say from where she stood beside him, snapping him out of his reverie. "These past few weeks… It's almost like the apocalypse never happened."

But it had. Their hearts and bodies still bore the scars to prove it."That's definitely something worth celebrating," he agreed. They had beaten the odds. They had survived. Maybe it was time they started enjoying that. "So let's do it – let's have a party."

* * *

_I'm sure a lot of you will have heard this by now, but for those who haven't, someone started an online petition to bring Andrea/Laurie Holden back. __ While I'm doubtful that they'll reshoot the finale a second time, it would be great if we could all let the people involved know they made a huge mistake in killing Andrea off, so please sign it if you haven't already. __The address is www dot the petition site dot com / 916/ 302/ 464/ bring-back-andrea-laurie-holden-to-the-walking-dea d / Who knows, though, at the very least we might get to see some of those Andrea/Michonne flashbacks they've been teasing us with. Cold comfort knowing what's going to happen, but the more Andrea the better, right?__  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2.

The party was in full swing when Rick arrived with Judith in tow. Music blared from speakers arranged around the square, loud enough to create a festive atmosphere, but not so loud that it would draw a herd of walkers to the wall.

Most of the townspeople were already gathered, along with his friends: he could see Carl sitting on the steps of the old courthouse with a group of boys from school, Glenn and Maggie talking to another young couple, Hershel being chatted up by one of the old ladies from the bridge club… Even Daryl and Michonne had put in appearances, though both looked decidedly out of their comfort zone, Daryl sticking close to Carol's side, while Rick couldn't help noticing that Tyreese seemed to have taken a shine to Michonne. It was nice to see them having fun – well most of them. He made a mental note to thank Andrea for all the hard work she'd put into making that happen.

Within minutes of his arrival, he was relieved of the baby by Beth, who proceeded to make the rounds with her, showing her off proudly, and soon she was being passed around while the women took turns fussing over her.

Satisfied that his daughter was taken care of, at least for the moment, Rick began to weave his way through the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for the woman responsible for it all.

He spotted her over by the refreshment table, nursing a glass of wine while she uncovered plates of food.

She had dressed up for the event, ditching her usual messy ponytail in favour of pinning her golden curls neatly into some sort of fancy updo, exchanging her jeans for a vintage style halter dress, the same shade of deep crimson as the lipstick she wore. They were covered in dirt and blood so much of the time that it was easy for him to forget what a knockout she was: she had a kind of classic beauty that reminded him of the movie stars of his grandfather's day like Grace Kelly. Without meaning to, he found himself staring at her for much longer than he knew was polite, intrigued by this softer, more feminine side of her.

"You look nice," he announced by way of a greeting, walking over to where she was standing.

She turned at the sound of his voice, confusion written across her expression when her eyes met his and she realised the compliment was meant for her.

"Thank you, Rick," she said, recovering quickly, a flirtatious note in her voice, but he could see that she was blushing. She twirled on the spot for his benefit, demonstrating the way the skirt fanned out around her. "I found it in the clothes store and it was in my size so I figured, 'What the hell'. You only live once, right?"

His eyebrow shot up challengingly in response.

"Or not," she agreed with a smirk. She eyed him appraisingly, and he was suddenly glad that he'd forced himself to shave for the occasion. "You don't clean up too badly yourself. There might actually be hope for you yet."

She grabbed his hand, and Rick started as her soft fingers brushed his. He tried to remember the last time anyone had touched him like that, but he couldn't – it must have been Lori, back on the farm, before he'd driven a wedge between them by murdering Shane. Carl was too old and jaded for hugs and kisses from his father, so the only person he shared physical contact with anymore was Judith. It suddenly hit him how lonely he was. How lonely he had been, even before Lori died.

If Andrea noticed his reaction, she didn't let on. "Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone."

For what seemed like an eternity, but in reality couldn't have been more than an hour, she dragged him from group to group, rattling off names, most of which Rick heard and then promptly forgot.

"Is there anyone here you don't know?" he asked her, envying how at ease she seemed with them. He had never been especially skilled at small talk, preferring to limit his socialising to a select group of friends, but his recent experiences seemed to have made him worse. It was hard to care about trivial details like what line of work someone was in when you'd just spent the better part of a year watching the people you loved die one by one while you ran for your life.

"I haven't met this little guy," Andrea told him, stopping to admire Woodbury's newest resident: a boy born just two days prior. "He's beautiful, Eileen."

"Would you like to hold him?" the mother, Eileen, asked her.

Watching the change in Andrea's demeanor as the swaddled infant was placed in her arms, it occurred to Rick how little he knew of her life from before. He had no idea if she'd ever been married or engaged or had a child of her own, or if those were even things that she'd wanted before the end of the world robbed her of that future. All he knew were the superficial things she had told him, like that she was once an attorney who grew up in Florida. She was right: he really should start making more of an effort to connect with people.

"What are you calling him?" Andrea was enquiring, glancing from the newborn back up to his mother.

Eileen looked down at her son with a tender smile. "Matthew."

"Welcome to Woodbury, Matthew," Andrea told him, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

She drew back slowly, inhaling his scent, before handing him reluctantly back to his mother.

"You better watch out," she teased Rick as they continued on their way. "It won't be long before he has his eye on Judith."

After almost a year on the road, it was hard to imagine staying in the same place for eighteen months, much less eighteen _years_, but the more Rick thought about it, the more he came to realise that it was easy to picture them building a life here.

And he wanted that life. He wanted to be the overprotective father instilling fear in the hearts of the neighbourhood boys before they took his daughter out on a date. He wanted to walk her down the aisle and dance with her at her wedding when she found the one who would treat her right. He wanted to watch Carl put his gun away and become a good man, a gentle man, not a soldier in an endless war who thought nothing of taking a stranger's life.

But most of all, he wanted to live long enough to be happy again, to find someone to love, who would love him in spite of all the shameful things that he'd done. Someone he could grow old with.

When she had finished her introductions, Andrea poured herself another drink and went to oversee the preparations for the barbeque, and Rick headed over to check on Judith, relieved to be back among his own people.

He lost track of her after that, although occasionally he would glance up in time to catch a glimpse of her through the crowd, so busy playing hostess that he wondered if she was finding time to enjoy the party herself. It was typical of the almost manic behaviour she had been exhibiting over the past few weeks, always with somewhere to go, something to do, constantly on the move as though she were afraid of what would happen when she was finally still.

"Does Andrea seem weird to you?" he asked Carol, watching her from the other side of the square.

Carol frowned. "Weird how?"

He struggled to put it into words. "I don't know – restless, I guess." But then she'd always been impatient, driven, determined to prove herself – at least in the short time that he'd known her. The change was subtler than that. She was quieter now, more reserved.

Haunted.

"She's got a lot on her plate right now," Carol reminded him. "You both do."

"That must be it," he agreed, but deep down he wasn't convinced.

Once the food had been cleared away, and there was nothing left for her to do, he decided to seek her out and talk her into sitting down with her friends before she collapsed.

He must have asked at least a half dozen people if they knew where she was before Eileen said, "I saw her go that way a little while ago," pointing vaguely up the street.

Her apartment was back the other way, he realised, but he didn't think she would have gone home, so leaving Judith with Carol, he headed away from the party in the direction that Eileen had indicated.

He found her at the end of a row of empty stores, hunched over a garden bed, retching into the bushes.

"Shit, Andrea. Are you okay?" he asked her, rushing to her side.

"I think I had too much wine," she groaned, wiping her mouth on the back of her palm, smearing her lipstick across her cheek in the process.

"You're not kidding. Have you eaten anything tonight?"

She shook her head, and one of her perfectly arranged curls came loose, falling into her face.

He remembered the water bottle in his back pocket. "Here," he told her, unscrewing the cap and offering it to her. "Sit down, drink this."

She accepted it gratefully, perching on the edge of the wall.

He watched her sip it slowly until most of it was gone. "Better?"

She nodded.

"Good." He sat down beside her. "Now you wanna tell me what's going on? You haven't been yourself since we got here."

"I'm fine, Rick," she protested, pressing the cool bottle to her forehead. "I just overdid it a little, that's all."

"That's what you call 'a little'?"

She looked away from him, ashamed.

"We're friends, aren't we?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she agreed, but he couldn't help noticing that she didn't sound completely sure.

"So you can talk to me," he assured her.

Fat tears spilled from beneath her lashes, rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously. "I'm scared that if I do, you'll lose whatever respect you have left for me," she confessed.

He tried to imagine what she could be hiding that might have that affect on him, his eyes widening in alarm as a disturbing thought occurred to him. "You're not pregnant, are you?" he asked her. He had caught her throwing up after all.

She paled at the idea. "No," she insisted, repeating it for emphasis before adding, "Thank God. I don't think I could handle that."

She seemed sure so he decided to let it go. "I'd say you dodged a bullet there."

"You don't have to tell me." She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath to compose herself. "You were close, though. It is him," she admitted finally.

"The Governor?" he checked.

She nodded again. "I'm not sorry he's dead," she rushed to clarify. "He would have killed me, and Mich, and who knows how many others…"

He sensed a 'but' coming. "But you regret killing him," he supplied gently.

She glanced over at him in surprise. "Is that wrong?" she asked him. "He was a monster. He deserved to die for what he did, and what he was going to do. So why do I feel like this? Why can't I stop thinking about it?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," he assured her. "Dale was right – taking a life should never be easy, even if that life does belong to a worthless piece of shit like Philip Blake."

"After you killed Shane… Did you have nightmares about it?" she asked, and he was relieved to hear that there was no judgement in her tone, just a desperate need to understand.

"Sometimes," he admitted. He realised he hadn't told anyone that before, but then she was the first person who'd wanted to know. "Not so much anymore, but occasionally I still do." After all, it had been the worst day of his life, right up until the day Lori died.

"I have these dreams that he's chasing me," she confessed quietly. "He corners me in that warehouse or at the prison or somewhere here in Woodbury, and sometimes I kill him, and sometimes he kills me, but one of us always dies. I can't even remember the last time I slept through the night."

"Have you tried talking to anyone about it? Michonne?"

She shook her head. "The Governor is still a sore subject with us. I'm worried she'd tell me it serves me right. Maybe it does. Maybe this is my punishment for not seeing the truth sooner. I had so many chances, but I just didn't want to believe it."

He tried to think of something to say that would help her, but he knew from experience that the only thing that could heal her broken mind was time. Time, and whatever support her friends could give her.

"If we were in the old world, I'd suggest you see a therapist," he told her, "but since that's not an option anymore, why don't you come spend the night at my place?"

She looked at him strangely.

"You can have my bed and I'll sleep on the couch," he added hastily, in case she thought he was trying to take advantage of the situation. "That way you won't be alone if it happens again."

She reached for his hand and squeezed it and this time he didn't flinch at the contact. "Thanks, Rick."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3.

Rick couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours when a blood-curdling scream rent the stillness of the house.

Carl, his sleep-muddled brain thought, but no, that couldn't be right. The voice he heard was unmistakably female. Too high for Carl, too old for Judith, who mercifully seemed to have slept through it… Then it all came flooding back to him: the party, Andrea, his offer to let her stay with them.

While the rational part of his brain knew that no one or _thing_ could have gotten past him without him being aware of it, this did little to quell his fear; he was off the couch and on his feet in an instant, pistol in hand as he raced up the stairs.

"Andrea?" he called from the landing outside the master bedroom.

He didn't wait for a response, throwing the door open without knocking, his eyes performing a perfunctory scan of the room. The lack of a breeze told him that the window was still sealed tightly behind the thin drapes, and there was no sign of a disturbance, human or otherwise.

He turned his attention on her. She was wide awake, sitting up in bed, dressed in a grey sweatshirt and a pair of blue pyjama bottoms, her hair mussed from sleep. He might have thought she looked cute if she wasn't so pale, the smudges left by her mascara making her appear almost ghostly in the thin light shining in from the hall.

"What happened?" he asked her. "What's wrong?"

Physically, she seemed fine, but she was shivering violently, her breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"He caught me and he put me in the room he was going to use for Michonne," she explained once she had recovered enough to speak, and it took Rick a moment to realise that what she was talking about was another one of her dreams, and not something that she had actually endured during her time with the Governor. "He stabbed Milton and he locked him in there with me so that he would tear me apart. I was chained up and I couldn't stop him and…" The rest of the story was lost as she began to cry, burying her face in both hands, but it wasn't hard to figure out how the dream must have ended, especially when he managed to discern something that sounded a lot like, "In this world, you kill or you die".

He stared at her helplessly, wondering if he should do something. He had never been any good at bringing comfort to people, even during death knocks, when he would wuss out and let Shane do most of the talking. It had always been a point of contention between him and Lori, who resented his inability to give her the emotional support that she craved, which in the end, might have been why she'd decided to seek it from someone else.

When Andrea showed no sign of calming down on her own, Rick did the only thing he could think of: he sat down on the bed beside her and, prying her hands from her face, pulled her into his arms.

She stiffened in his embrace, and worried that he'd misjudged the situation, he was about to let go, but then her head drooped against his chest as all of the fight left her.

He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt as she continued to sob against him, great hiccoughing sobs. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't; at least not as much as he would have imagined.

"It's okay," he murmured, rocking her gently like he did with Judith. "You're safe now. We're all safe now because of you."

Eventually, she stopped crying, but she didn't pull away; instead, she tilted her head to look at him, and he found himself mesmerised by her eyes, which seemed to shine even brighter than usual against her red-rimmed eyelids and pallid skin.

He had never met anyone with eyes that shade of green before, like polished sea glass. Sea foam, he remembered his mother calling it on a long ago trip to the ocean.

He considered telling her this, but before he could find the right words, her mouth was on his, driving all coherent thoughts from his brain.

He kissed her back with a fervour that surprised him, all the while knowing that it was a bad idea – that his wife's body was barely cold (if she'd still had a body left to bury), that his children were just down the hall, that it was only happening because they were both sad and lonely and in Andrea's case, probably still a little inebriated – but it felt so good to touch someone again, to _be_ touched that he couldn't bring himself to feel as guilty as he thought he should.

His marriage was dead long before his wife, he reminded himself, both kids were asleep, and the draw he'd been fighting since that first day in the department store had been building steadily over the past few weeks as they worked side by side. It wasn't surprising that the dam had finally burst now that they were both free to act on that attraction however they liked.

She broke the kiss long enough to help him rid himself of his t-shirt, before moving on to her sweatshirt, pulling it over her head to reveal heretofore unseen expanses of alabaster skin, covered only by a flimsy white tank top.

He pushed the strap aside, mapping the curve of her shoulder carefully with his lips, delighting in the soft sigh of pleasure that escaped her.

Gaining confidence from that sound, he lowered her onto the bed, her hands in his hair, fingernails raking lightly over his scalp as his mouth found hers again, kissing her like a drowning man who'd finally caught a glimpse of the shore.

"Rick, stop," she said without opening her eyes, her voice coming out as a breathy moan as he shifted his focus to her throat, "We need to stop," and it occurred to him that if he didn't, he was going to leave a mark that would be difficult to explain.

He wasn't sure if tonight was a one time thing, or the start of something new between them, but either way, he didn't want to fuel the Woodbury gossip mill by giving her a noticeable hickey.

He brought his mouth back to hers, bewildered when instead of returning his kiss like she had every other time, she turned her face away.

"I can't do this," she told him, sitting up so abruptly that he almost fell off the bed. "I'm sorry."

A selfish part of him was disappointed, but the other, more dominant part was ashamed of his weakness. He didn't like to think of himself as the type of man who would take advantage of a woman who was drunk and teetering on the brink of what he feared was some kind of trauma-induced breakdown, even if she was the one who'd initiated it.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," he apologised, handing her sweatshirt. "I don't know what got into me."

He was relieved when she pulled it back on, hiding her body from view. He picked up his own shirt, slipping it on hurriedly so that they were both fully-clothed.

"It's not you," she assured him, combing her hair out with her fingers. "It's just that the last man I had sex with tried to kill me and everyone I care about, so I hope you understand why I'm not ready to jump into anything right now."

He wondered how long she was going to beat herself up for falling under the Governor's spell. From what he'd witnessed, the man had had a whole town in his thrall long before she ever set eyes on him. He thought of Michonne's spot on assessment of him: _Pretty boy, charming, Jim Jones type_. With his classic good looks and slippery Southern drawl, Philip Blake was a born manipulator; it was little wonder that she hadn't seen him for the aberration that he was inside.

"That wasn't your fault, Andrea. You made a mistake. It happens." He was just glad that she was able to fix it before it cost her her life.

"Two. Two mistakes." For a moment, he thought she was talking about him, and what she'd almost let happen between them; he must have looked confused until she added, "I slept with Shane."

Rick sucked in a sharp breath, shocked, and if he was honest, a little disgusted at hearing that while he was busy trying to hold them all together, his friend had been working his way through every woman of consensual age in the group. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out that he'd bedded Carol too. "When?"

"On the farm, after gun training. You remember that private lesson he gave me?" she finished sheepishly.

Rick fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Classic Shane. He never could resist a pretty girl."

Even if that girl was my wife, he thought bitterly.

It stung a little that he'd gotten to Andrea too, especially since it was painfully clear to him that he was only using her to get over Lori.

She deserved better than to be someone's rebound. She deserved better than to be a psychopath's plaything, too.

"You realise that's the second time you've commented on my appearance tonight?" she teased him, cutting his train of thought short. "Anyone would think you were flirting with me, Rick."

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm not sure I know how to flirt anymore," he admitted. It was a long time since he'd had anyone he needed to impress.

The smile faded from her lips. "Good, because your wife just died and I'm a train wreck and we work together so it would be stupid for us to get involved with each other. Not that it wasn't nice," she added hastily. "I just don't think it would be wise to let it happen again."

As usual, she presented a solid case. "Exactly," he agreed, because what else could he say? She was right, neither of them was ready, both still reeling from their recent experiences.

"So… friends?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely."

He decided that that was his cue to leave until she said, "Since we're friends, do you think you could stay here with me tonight?", pinning him with those magnificent green eyes.

The last thing he wanted to do was sleep next to her after what had just happened, but as his mind flashed back on her earlier terror, he felt his resolve faltering. After all, he had promised her that she wouldn't have to be alone.

"Sure."

She levelled him with a mock glare. "But no more funny business," she warned him.

"Scout's honour," he agreed, bringing his hand up to his head in a two-fingered salute and they both laughed.

She settled back into bed, and retrieving the spare blanket from the chair in the corner, he stretched out on top of the covers beside her, grateful for the barrier the comforter provided. Despite what he'd told her, he didn't trust himself to hold back if she brushed up against him some time in the early hours of the morning.

"You know, I could see you as a boy scout, with the uniform and that big goofy hat." She looked over at him with a grin. "Come to think of it, that's not all that different to when I met you."

"You wanna talk about the day we met, Ms. Ladysmith? I'm just lucky you had no idea what to do with a gun back then."

"Too bad I do now," she said softly, her melancholy mood returning in full force. "Dale would be so ashamed of me if he could see what I've become. I promised him I would find another way."

"And he would be wrong," Rick insisted, though he couldn't imagine the old man being anything but proud of her for everything she'd achieved here in Woodbury. "You tried to do it his way, and when that didn't work, you made the only choice you could. You did the right thing, Andrea. Deep down, I think you know that."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

He thought of Shane. Of the look on his face as his oldest and dearest friend plunged a knife deep into his heart. "It never does," he agreed.

In this world, you kill or you die, she had said. He hated that it was true.

They didn't talk much after that, each lost in their own private reflections.

Rick stayed awake long after she had fallen back asleep, watching her expression closely for signs of distress, but as far as he could tell, she didn't have any more nightmares that night.


End file.
